The point of parties is they’re supposed to be good fun, but when you toss the word “holiday” in there they take on an entirely different shape. There are several elements unique to the holiday party-the mayonnaise-thick hot beverages, the jingly background music, the sight of otherwise elegant people wearing clothing made out of crimson velveteen. And then there’s an even greater beast: the social anxiety that kicks in the second you take off your coat and realize there’s a sea of strangers to whom you’re supposed to be presenting your most charming self.

For hosts, holiday parties can be a one-stop social payback. It’s always easy to fire off a few more invitations and pack the room with work associates, neighbors, old friends who’ve drifted out of regular touch, or even just midlevel friends who don’t make the cut for a dinner-party seat. The guest enters a pool of unfamiliar faces and is expected to soar through the room in a productive yet effortless way. What often ends up happening is that the guests glance nervously around the room and discuss with several people in a row what they do for a living, how they know the host, and maybe, just maybe, how impressed they are with the super-sized cheese board.

Small talk can make you feel so small.

This year is especially difficult for those of us who have been known to have our socially maladroit moments. After several years in abeyance, the holiday party is back. A decent economy is inspiring people to pull out their clipboards and draft guest lists. Mary Cleaver of the Cleaver Company said a woman hired them to cater for a December 18 party but then pulled out when she realized how many other parties she was invited to that same evening. Not only are orders this year up by about 40% at Abigail Kirsch, another high-end caterer, but the outfit says they’re seeing a trend away from quiet, sit-down dinners and toward evening-long cocktail parties. They’ve even come up with a party scheme called Dinner by the Bite, with butlers wandering around the room carrying trays of tasting-size helpings of dinner courses, while revelers stay on their increasingly achy feet and mingle, hour after hour. “It’s a more social environment than being tied to a table,” said Carl Hedin, the company’s general manager.

Corporations, too, are returning to throwing holiday parties. While the extravagant affairs that marked the late 1990s have yet to be resurrected, many companies are abandoning their charity-donations-instead-of-party policies this year and are choosing to herd their employees into a restaurant for a night of tinselly cheer. A recent report about the rise of corporate parties by Bizbash Media, an event-planning industry Web site and newsletter, said that in addition to booking more often, corporate party planners are booking earlier and bigger. Bizbash Media’s editor, Chad Kaydo, said: “In the past couple of years companies put off the decision because they didn’t know if it was going to feel right. People don’t think you have to apologize for having a holiday party this year.”

That’s all good news for those in the pigs-in-a-blanket industry, but what it means for the rest of us is a month of accelerated holiday schmoozing – and a black coal of distress.

A slightly shy friend of mine said he survives the holiday party rush by talking nonstop, even if he has nothing to say. Talking a lot, he contends, makes it difficult to stop to realize how stupid he sounds and retreat into a shell of self-consciousness. “As long as you don’t know anybody it’s fine,” he said. “The worst is when you know the people a little bit. It can get embarrassing.”

The art of party conversation is an elusive one. First there’s the confusion over where in the room to establish your headquarters and how to initiate a conversation. In theory you’re supposed to be allowed to chat with anybody in the room, but New York has its share of teenager types who mumble one-word answers, look at you as though you’re out of your mind for having asked them a question in the first place, then look away or sidle off. And once you do get chatting with somebody a little more agreeable, it’s a balancing act between the superficial and the heavy. You can’t let the seesaw tip in one direction, lest you find yourself either bored with the inanity of what you’re saying or overwhelmed by the creepy intensity of talking to a stranger about childhood traumas.

Cowed by the pressures of the holiday season, people apparently are flocking to “conversation coaches” and “life instructors” to school them in the art of party survival. Craigslist is teeming with notices for such services, and those who want to go the more orthodox route can take a course from a motivational speaker, Leil Lowndes, called “How to Talk to Anybody about Anything: Fearless Conversation!” It’s offered at the Learning Annex for about $60.

Early last week the author of “How to Talk to Anyone” and “UpDating!” (a guide to scoring out of your league) led a nearly-three-hour-long class in a church basement near Herald Square. The course wasn’t billed as a holiday class, per se, but Ms. Lowndes said the holiday stress was responsible for the turnout of 67 students, approximately double the normal attendance.

Ms. Lowndes, a trim and energetic former cruise ship director, reviewed techniques for starting up a conversation (tip: comment on their jewelry) and making conversation comfortable for your partner (do: smile and say things that are easy to agree with; don’t: stand too close or say anything too smart).

One of her students, Anja Pehlke, said she’s facing a full season and she’s decided this year to skip out of the parties that aren’t related to work. “For that one I’ll make an appearance,” she said. “I’m not that comfortable at them and I try to avoid stressful situations.”

Carolyn Foti, a class member who owns a process-serving company in Manhattan, feels perfectly capable of working a room. But she said: “I hate getting all dressed up and having people stare at you. I’m already trying to figure out excuses not to go this year.”

In a telephone interview following the lecture, Ms. Lowndes noted that holiday office parties tend to be the most challenging social occasion for her clients. “The CEO can come up to you and it can be so embarrassing,” she said. “Another reason they can be so difficult is people don’t really communicate by speaking to each other in the office anymore. It’s all over e-mail, and once you’re face-to-face with somebody it can be discomfiting.”

For those who are looking for a more personal session, there is a comedy writer cum life coach, Kelley Brower. She offers private tutorials for $75, conducted either in a Starbucks or in the Union Square production office where she works part-time. So many of her clients have brought up the issues of holiday party anxiety, she said, that she’s organizing a holiday party for them Sunday. “We’re going to play games so it’s not awkward,” she said.

Ms. Brower is small-boned and adorable, with loud tortoise-shell glasses and the ability to empathize with anything a client says. “My clients are really the coolest people,” she said. Her approach is more therapeutic than that of Ms. Lowndes – she relies on improvisation exercises mixed with pointers she has gleaned from exhaustive study of self-help books.

Before meeting with clients, she has them send her by e-mail their bios and self-diagnoses. At a consultation last week, she had a printout on the table, underlined in several colors. “I’m a Capricorn,” she explained. “I love colored pens.”

With the request to focus on holiday parties, she interviewed a first-time client about everything from the state of the woman’s apartment to the title of the book she was reading. Then there was the self-assessment, in which the client was supposed to rate, from 1 to 10, all the major aspects of her life, such as friends, creativity, or career. Ms. Brower was helpful when the client stalled on “relationship,” swiftly declaring, “I’d say you’re a 2.”

There were some improvisation games, with Ms. Brower playing the stranger at the party, and then she played the client, showing what responses and questions would have worked best.

The grand finale was creating a colorful diagram under Ms. Brower’s guidance, with the client’s boxed-off name in the middle of the page and different-colored arrows attached to different points. Orange: Must empathize more. Purple: Comment on something visual. Black: Avoid retreating into your head.

The session was cozier and more helpful than the course at the Learning Annex, but the client still wishes January would hurry up.